


candy in your mouth (i know you love me)

by embodied



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 22:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12945741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embodied/pseuds/embodied
Summary: “You’re wrong,” Harry says, jaw clenched tight. “Because if all I wanted was a fuck, I’ve got at least three willing parties a phone call and a five minute drive away. What I want isyou.I want us, I want it to be normal again -”“What thefuckis normal?” Louis yells, much too loudly, and has to pause to consciously lower his voice before he speaks again. “Because a year ago, normal was eating too much takeaway and watching B-movies on Netflix in your room, and then normal was me choking on your cock at half past two in the morning, and I don’t know about you, but as of the past few weeks, normal is not seeing or talking to you at all, because I’ve all but admitted that I’m fucking crazy for you and you don’t know what tosayto that.” Louis’ chest heaves, his breath coming out short. He hears his own throat stick when he swallows, and his voice is decidedly weaker when he asks, “So which one is it, Harry?”AU. Things have shifted since last Christmas.





	candy in your mouth (i know you love me)

**Author's Note:**

> here is porn that i tried to make angsty because there's not enough angsty christmas fic, okay? 
> 
> thanks to lovely [lysha](http://fondleeds.tumblr.com) for helping me come up with the idea and for being amazing :') 
> 
> title is from rotten pumpkin by slothrust

There’d been a birthday text. 

A cold, straightforward birthday text, just  _ Happy birthday, Lou. xx  _ and nothing else, like the ones he gets on his Facebook wall from people he barely even  _ knows _ , no lengthy anecdotes, no heart emojis, not even an exclamation point. Louis supposes the kisses at the end are something, but he’s watched Harry add them as an afterthought too many times, an attempt to rectify what could otherwise be construed as too hostile. There’d been a birthday text, sent at eight in the morning yesterday, and that’s the most Louis’ heard from Harry since he’d stormed out of his dorm room what must’ve been three weeks ago.

The past two years they’ve come home from uni together, packed up Louis’ Taurus and drove the three hours to Donny, arguing over what station to put on the radio, because Harry wanted Christmas music and Louis was  _ over  _ it. “My car, my rules,” he’d say, and somehow still ended up glaring his way through Jingle Bell Rock. Then they’d pile into Louis’ mum’s house, setting up camp on the pullout and the armchair in Louis’ basement for a week or so because, with Gemma home at Anne and Robin’s, there’d only be room for one of them there, and that wasn’t any good, was it? Then, on Christmas Day, Louis’ mum makes a roast in preparation for the annual Styles-Twist-Deakin-Tomlinson dinner, and Harry and Louis spend it kicking at each other under the table, and after, cuddle up on the sofa for a film in one big human puppy pile, Harry and Louis and Gemma and the girls, bellies full and satisfied, sweet aroma of vanilla candles and Harry’s cologne clouding Louis’ senses.

Things have shifted since last Christmas. They started hooking up, for one - Louis still doesn’t know how it happened; he remembers Harry coming to see him after a bad date, sometime this past spring, and then they were rutting up against each other in Louis’ tiny twin bed, and then Harry was letting himself into his dorm room twice a week at minimum, pressing in close as he got Louis off with his hand or his mouth or his  _ cock -  _ so that was new. That, and Louis came home alone this year, so. As it is.

Louis feels too warm where he sits in the living room, still cluttered with wrapping paper and gifts from that morning, the Christmas tree lights unplugged. It’ll all be in order soon enough, when Jay calls in the twins to clean up and warm the room with a candle or two. Louis’ been flipping through channels for an hour now, and  _ It’s a Wonderful Life  _ is on commercial, so he figures it’s good timing when his mother calls him from the kitchen.

“Lou, honey, would you set the table? They’ll be here soon.”

Louis presses his palms into his black corduroy pants, bouncing up from the couch and pasting a helpful smile on his face as he takes the stacks of plates his mum thrusts into his arms. So far he’s managed to avoid questioning; she’d taken his shitty excuse that Harry was late catching up on coursework and would be driving up on his own, and either hadn't thought or hadn't wanted to ask why, a week later, he’s still not around using the babies as an excuse to build blanket forts in the den, or saying, “yes, mumma Jay,” every time she requests his help, sickeningly sweet smile on his face while Louis rolls his eyes and mutters,  _ such a kiss-arse, Haz. _

Louis spends too long setting the table, meticulously straightening each plate and fork as an attempt to distract himself from the antsy feeling he’s been getting on and off all day at the thought of Harry, who isn’t speaking to him, brushing elbows with him at this very table an hour from now, hair clean and gently styled and his softest sweater drooping over his palms. As anxious as it makes him, he reasons that it’s good they’ll finally be in the same place - Harry can’t avoid Louis in his own house, and it’ll be easier to corner him and demand he tell him what the fuck is happening.

By the time he’s done, the girls already have the living room tidied, fairy lights on the walls and tree adding a warm incandescence to the room, and his mum is laying down potholders to set the dishes on. Louis excuses himself to the loo to check his hair, licking at his palm and attempting to flatten a cowlick just above his ear. He’s just contemplating whether or not he should’ve shaved the light scruff smattering his chin when he hears a scuffle outside, the telltale creak of the front door just down the hall, a round of greetings, and Anne’s voice speaking to what must be one of his sisters in her light, chirpy tone.

Louis breathes. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this nervous to see Harry in his  _ life _ , shit, he doesn’t know if he’s ever been nervous to see Harry at all, not in this sick-stomached way, at least. He resents it. For fuck’s sake, it’s just Harry.

It’s just Harry. The thought calms him enough to open the door. Worst case, he supposes, Harry ignores him, same as he has been, and Louis will have to find another day to get through to him.

It turns out he’s worried for naught. Not because Harry greets him with a warm smile, a quiet apology, a  _ talk later _ . No, it’s because when Louis crosses the hall to the dining room, he only counts three extra heads. Anne is giving his mother a hug, Robin has Doris on his hip, Gemma is showing off her engagement ring to Lottie, and Harry isn’t here.

Harry didn’t come. Louis doesn’t get much time to dwell on it, because Anne crosses the room to greet him then, warm hands on his shoulders as she pecks both his cheeks.

“Oh, Louis, love, you get handsomer every time I see you, y’know,” she coos, punctuated with a wink, and Louis smiles, small but genuine. If there’s a woman he admires as much as his own mum, it’s her, even if she tends to pinch his cheeks and bring up the fact that she’s changed his diapers every chance she gets.

They all sit down soon afterwards, and dinner passes without incident. At least it’s familiar, the raucous way they go about it, voices all muddled together, dishes clinking as the circle around, at least one incidence of a spilled drink, Anne’s high laugh and Jay’s cackle as they exchange work gossip. Nobody brings up Harry, and Louis imagines he missed that conversation when he was in the loo, but he can’t bring himself to ask, too worried his voice will give something away.  

He finds out anyway when they’re clearing off the table, Gemma nudging him and saying, with a sly smirk, “It’s a shame Harry’s ill. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you look so lost.”

Louis does his best to play it off, and if Gemma notices anything off, she doesn’t say so. From there they move to the living room to exchange gifts for the second time that day, and Louis starts to overcompensate to make up for how antsy he feels, desperate to avoid any sort of confrontation that involves Harry again, even if it was only an innocent comment. It’s nearing ten when Anne and Robin gather up to leave, rounding the room to give hugs. Jay and Dan go off to bed, and Gemma and the girls stay to turn on the film, but Louis only sticks around for a third of it before retiring to the basement.

There, he strips down to his briefs, curling up on the pullout sofa with his phone cradled in his hands. He thinks about calling him, but he’s sure he wouldn't answer, especially if he’s faking sick the way Louis suspects. He ends up flicking on the telly instead, starting an episode of The Office from a season disc Harry left here when they were still in secondary.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep, and he thinks it’s the blue light flickering against the arm of the sofa that’s woken him, but then he hears the creak of the door at the bottom of the steps.

“Who’s it?” he slurs, rolling onto his belly. His eyes droop, and he thinks he’s imagined it when no one responds, but then the lumpy mattress dips to his right.

“Louis?” 

Louis’ throat tightens. He thinks he must be having some elaborately detailed dream, but he feels the draft when the corner of the blanket is lifted up, and there’s no way his brain could conjure up the way it feels when Harry presses up next to him, his body tensing immediately, hypersensitized just like that. 

He has enough good sense to wiggle away, at least, his head swimming as he puts space between them and lifts his head. The light of the telly illuminates his face, and yeah, that’s definitely Harry, his hair a mess like he’s been running his fingers through it, hint of a flush on his neck where the chain of his necklace pools in the dip of his throat. 

“What -” Louis starts, voice coming out much too vulnerable and  _ confused _ , so he clears his throat and starts again. “What are you doing here?” 

“Missed you,” Harry says immediately, like it’s obvious, like he can just say it and expect Louis to understand. He inches toward him again, staring at him with blown eyes as he tentatively creeps a hand up Louis’ arm. Louis exhales shakily, and it takes everything in him to curls his fingers around Harry’s wrist and push his hand away, blanket pooling around his waist as he moves to sit upright. 

“Jesus - no. No. That isn’t good enough.” His heart thumps against his ribcage, and he knows he shouldn’t, but he hates the sullen, dejected look on Harry’s face. Hates that he put it there. His fingers curls in his lap, and he wishes he was wearing some more goddamn clothes, feeling way too exposed under Harry’s slow, blinking gaze. 

Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t explain, and it frustrates Louis, the silence palpable and way, way too much. Abruptly, he tosses his hands in the air, making a noise of exasperation. “What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing here?” he repeats, and he can hear the anger in his own voice this time. 

“I don’t know,” Harry rushes out, his voice barely a whisper. 

“Are you drunk?” 

Harry starts to shake his head no, but wavers. “I dunno, not really. I had wine, but it - I didn’t come because of that. I just -” he pauses, lifting himself up on his elbow. “I had to see you. I can’t handle not speaking to you anymore.” 

Louis snorts in disbelief, biting his lip and not meeting Harry’s eyes.

“You can’t handle - that’s rich, you know, considering you had no problem  _ handling  _ it for the past three weeks, ignoring all my calls and miraculously being at the library every bloody time I went to see if you were home.” His hands shake in his lap as he speaks. Harry reaches out to touch him again, but seems to think better of it, his arm dropping down onto the mattress. 

“I’m sorry, okay? I know I should've handled it differently.  _ Fuck _ , I’m -” He reaches up to run his fingers through his hair, keeping them threaded there as he avoids Louis’ stony gaze. His voice wavers when he adds, “I’m so sorry. You're my best friend, Lou. I didn’t know what to say.” 

Louis laughs, a bitter, ugly thing. He can’t say he knows either. He reckons anything would have been better than what Harry  _ did  _ say, the look of disbelief on his face coupled with  _ wait, you - you don’t have feelings for me, do you?  _

“So, what? What is it that you want now? Because if you're here because you had a bit of wine and thought you might come get your dick wet -”

“ _ God _ , is that what you think? You think I only come around to get off?”

Louis’ never thought it until now. It’s obviously never been the reason before, but when Louis asked him, he’d practically been dismissed. It’s all he’s got left to think now. He shrugs.

“You’re wrong,” Harry says, jaw clenched tight. “Because if all I wanted was a fuck, I’ve got at least three willing parties a phone call and a five minute drive away. What I  _ want _ is  _ you.  _ I want us, I want it to be normal again -”

“What the  _ fuck _ is normal?” Louis yells, much too loudly, and has to pause to consciously lower his voice before he speaks again. “Because a year ago, normal was eating too much takeaway and watching B-movies on Netflix in your room, and then normal was me choking on your cock at half past two in the morning, and I don’t know about you, but as of the past few weeks, normal is not seeing or talking to you at all, because I’ve all but admitted that I’m fucking crazy for you and you don’t know what to  _ say  _ to that.” Louis’ chest heaves, his breath coming out short. He hears his own throat stick when he swallows, and his voice is decidedly weaker when he asks, “So which one is it, Harry?” 

He doesn’t expect it when Harry surges forward and presses their mouths together, hard, but maybe he should have. Louis’ never been able to predict anything he does, though; he doesn't know how to handle him, never has. Never will. 

He shivers, a hot flash shooting down to his belly as Harry gently prods his lips open with his tongue, but fuck if he’s going to let Harry avoid this  _ again.  _ He presses two hands against his chest, forcibly shoving him back. Harry’s face falls, and his eyes turn pleading. 

“Please, Louis, god. I miss you so much,” he breathes, tilting his head like he’s going to kiss Louis again. He doesn’t, though, which is good, because there’s no chance that Louis would be able to muster the will to push him away twice. All he wants is to kiss him again, feel him, but that won’t get them anywhere. As it is, Harry just stays breathing heavily through his nose as Louis clenches his fists in his lap.

“Goddamn it, Harry, you can’t - you can’t just  _ show up  _ and act like nothing’s happened. You can’t fucking do that. Christ, you couldn’t - you couldn’t even come to dinner. Sick, my fucking arse, you just didn’t want to face me -”

“That’s not why,” Harry says immediately. His hand is on Louis’ thigh now, but it’s closer to his knee than anything else, so Louis lets him. “That’s not why.” 

“Why, then?” Louis demands.

“Because - because, how was I supposed to - fuck, how was I supposed to just  _ sit _ there with both of our families and act like I don’t want you this fucking much, like I haven’t been thinking about touching you for  _ weeks _ , like I didn't fuck my mattress just this morning because I wanted you so bad -” 

“Harry.” Louis’ voice breaks on the word, weak, heart thumping in his throat. His skin is so, so hot.  “Shut up.” 

“I swear it’s not why I came tonight. I just wanted to see you. Talk to you.” He inhales deeply, eyes wide. “But that’s why I wasn't at dinner.”

Louis knows with absolute certainty that he’s going to let Harry have it whether he came for it or not, probably would have regardless, because he’s never been able to help himself when it comes to him. He doesn't know what Harry’s saying, if it even means what he wants it to, but the words  _ what I want is you _ make his head feel fuzzy, too heavy for his shoulders. He’s the one that leans in this time, hushing Harry’s quiet, needy noise as he presses in close. It’s clumsy, as far as kisses go, too wet and too hurried, but it’s still the best fucking kiss Louis’ ever gotten, a noise of content lost against Harry’s mouth. He shifts until Harry rolls him down onto his back, his body tight as a bow when he hovers over him, bicep quivering against the arm of the sofa as he reclaims Louis’ mouth. 

“God,  _ yes, _ ” Harry hisses against Louis’ lips, his left hand settling on the column of Louis’ throat, just resting there. Louis’ toes curl when Harry slows it down, just enough to coordinate it better, his tongue flicking into his mouth just right. It’s good, intoxicating, but Harry’s being cautious, barely touching Louis other than where their mouths are connected, both hands pressed into the shitty sofa mattress now and hips carefully angled away. Louis respects that, he does, but it’s not really ideal for the way his cock is quickly filling up in his briefs, needing Harry closer, closer, closer. He slides his hands up Harry’s sides, feels his way up to his broad shoulders, gets a grip on his arms and squeezes, trying to convey the message without saying it out loud. 

It doesn’t work, but after a few moments Harry’s arms collapse from the effort of holding himself up, and Louis doesn’t think it’s intentional when his thigh lands between Louis’ legs, but he still makes a noise in the back of his throat and ruts his hips up against the solid weight of him. Harry notices this, of course, and something in him seems to kick on, like a furnace starting up in the middle of the night. He presses his knee into the mattress and bears down with intent this time, one hand wedging itself between Louis’ back and the bed to pull him as close as he can be. 

Harry’s wearing jeans, and it’s too rough against his cock underneath the thin material of his pants, too rough on his bare thighs, but it feels fucking good, his mouth detaching from Harry’s with a filthy sound as he tips his chin toward the ceiling. Harry takes it as an opportunity to latch onto his pulse point and suck, just hard enough to raise blood to the surface, before peppering wet kisses down his throat. 

“I don’t believe you, by the way.” It’s embarrassing how breathy Louis’ voice has gone, but he’s past caring, his grip tightening on Harry’s shoulders when he rocks down on Louis’ cock. 

“Don’t believe what?” Harry asks, the hand that’s not holding Louis reaching up to pinch at a nipple, rolling it between his fingers. Louis makes a broken sound and feels his cock twitch, and he imagines there’s a wet spot beginning to form at the tip, smearing against the denim on Harry’s legs.

“I think,” he manages, “this is exactly what you came here for.” He punctuates by rocking up against Harry’s leg, one hand fisting the back of his shirt. 

“S’not.” Harry lowers his hips, and Louis can feel the hard line of his cock against his lower belly, straining against his jeans. 

“You want it, though, don’t you?” Louis drags Harry down by the back of the neck, pressing their foreheads together. Harry makes a low sound but doesn’t answer, at least not until Louis tugs roughly at his hair, and then he pitches his hips forward, nodding. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do, Louis. Fuck, so bad -”

Louis surges up to kiss him, rough and biting, and Harry responds with enthusiasm. God, it feels good to be wanted this much, too good, but maybe that’s his problem.

“I’m gonna let you,” he breathes into Harry’s mouth, fist tightening in his hair. Harry moans, ducking to kiss at Louis’ neck, murmuring  _ yes  _ against his skin. “But you - you’ve got to  _ promise  _ that we’ll talk tomorrow. About all of it.” Harry nods, but Louis wants to hear him say it out loud, needs to. “Harry,” he says, voice turning desperate, breaking on his name. “Promise me.”

Harry does, murmuring  _ promise promise promise  _ into Louis’ neck, his kisses wet and persistent. Louis is so fucking hard, brain going fuzzy with it, and he rocks up against Harry helplessly, needing more but not sure how to ask for it. He lets his hand drift down Harry’s torso, slipping under his shirt to feel at the soft skin of his stomach, muscles tensing under his fingers. From there he goes further, Harry working a steady mark into his collarbone, fingers wandering down and stopping at the cool metal of Harry’s belt buckle under his palm. He dips two fingers under his waistband, barely, then moves his hand around to the front, feeling around for Harry’s bulge trapped beneath the fabric. He gives it a firm squeeze when he finds it, tucked off to the right and hot and pulsing in his palm. 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Harry curses, rutting against Louis’ hand. “Hang on.” 

He sits up, and Louis feels the loss instantly, cold draft raising bumps on his mostly bare skin. He watches as Harry strips off his shirt, showing off smooth, inked-up skin and his jeans hanging low on his hips. He looks at Louis once he’s done, lip pulled into his mouth almost like he expects him to approve. Louis doesn't, of course - he’s fucking gorgeous, all milky skin and round edges, soft and sharp all at once - but Louis can’t approve because he’s still got too many fucking clothes on, so he snaps at the white elastic of the briefs peeking above the waist of his jeans instead. 

“These too,” Louis murmurs, and Harry complies easily, shuffling back to unbuckle his belt, the metal clinking as he gets it undone and works on the zipper. Eager, Louis helps him push his jeans over his thighs, his grey briefs yanking down along with them, just enough to expose the v of his hips and the perfect form of his big dick trapped underneath the fabric, hard and straining. Harry swings his legs out to peel the jeans from his ankles, letting them drop down of the edge of the bed in an unceremonious heap, belt clanking against the wooden floor. Harry straightens, and Louis drinks him in, smoothing his hands over his thighs, feeling the soft, downy hair underneath his palms. 

“Wanna suck you,” Harry blurts, shameless. Louis feels a shock of arousal go straight to his prick, but he shakes his head, grazing a knuckle over the line of Harry’s cock through his underwear. 

“Me first,” he responds, voice throaty and remarkably turned on. He glances up at Harry, trying to read his face, but all he gets is his heavy-lidded eyes and wet, parted lips, gaze directed right back at Louis. “You want that?”

“ _ Yeah,  _ please,” Harry sighs, ducking down to nuzzle into Louis’ neck, hair tickling Louis’ chin as he nips gently behind his ear before moving to settle down onto his back. Louis makes a disapproving noise and stops him, forcing him back on top by the hips. Harry ends up straddling the sides of his belly, head cocked to the side. 

“What -”

“Just,” Louis cuts him off, reaching for another pillow to shove under his head, hands gripping at Harry’s love handles and unsuccessfully trying to drag his body upward. “Like this.” 

It’s enough for it to dawn on Harry, what he’s asking for, and his lips part in shock, or maybe that’s arousal, eyes going heavy with it. “God, Louis,” he moans, shifting to slide up Louis’ body, a heavy, grounding weight on Louis’ chest when he settles there. 

“Okay?” he asks softly, and Louis responds by peeling the band of his briefs down, the wet head of his cock popping out from the fabric. Louis rolls his underwear down until they’re trapped beneath his balls, taking Harry into his hand and dragging his fist up once, before moving back down and squeezing at the base. Harry pants, chin tucked down to his chest as he watches Louis touch him. He lets out a quiet noise when Louis drags his lips over his slit, just teasing, before releasing his cock and letting it slap back against his belly, smearing a wet patch of precome into his skin.

“You can fuck my mouth now,” Louis tells him, settling back against his pillows, letting his mouth drop open slightly as if to invite Harry in. Harry grips the base of his cock and shifts, tilting his hips forward and tapping it against Louis’ parted lips, almost like he’s teasing himself. Finally, he slides his dick past Louis’ lips, Louis’ tongue flattening to cradle the underside as he slowly feeds it in. His fingers grapple at Harry’s skin, digging into the fleshy bits of his arse, and Harry begins to rock his hips forward, just barely. It’s been awhile since Louis’ done this, but he  _ knows  _ he can take more than that. Harry’s always needy in bed, and completely unashamed of it, too - always vocal and always pushing, but Louis thinks he gives Harry a run for his money, the way Harry makes him feel and act. He’d like to be the one to make Harry lose himself, for once. 

He makes a low noise around Harry’s cock, forcing him in further by the hips, and that’s when Harry seems to get it, cupping the back of Louis’ head in his palm and rocking his hips with less caution, mouth caught open in awe as he watches himself disappear into Louis’ mouth.

They’ve done this before, but this time is feels - it’s a lot, Louis goes dizzy with it, and there’s hardly even a rhythm, just the weight of Harry’s cock on his tongue and the sting when he hits the back of Louis’ throat, over and over again. Harry doesn’t look away the whole time, holding Louis’ head almost gently. It’s too soon when he pulls out suddenly, his body jerking back and his cock falling from Louis’ lips, slick with his spit. Harry lets out a long, shaky breath, and Louis doesn’t even care how desperate and eager he must look when he leans forward to try and get him back in his mouth. He isn’t successful, due in part to Harry pressing his thumb against his mouth instead, letting it catch on his bottom lip. 

“Sorry, just - do you wanna switch now? I can’t - I’m gonna come if we keep doing that,” Harry admits, voice gone throaty like  _ he’s  _ the one who’s been sucking cock. 

“Kinda the point, innit?” Louis says, and yeah, he's definitely worse off, punctuating his sentence with a few coughs as an attempt to get his voice sounding...not like that. Above him, Harry shakes his head, Louis’ fingers tapping absently- impatiently - on his thighs. 

“Don’t wanna come like that,” he finally answers, and then contradicts his own words by letting Louis take the head of his cock back between his lips, only for a second before he pops off and responds, “how, then?” 

“Lou,” Harry whimpers, his fingers drifting down Louis’ arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. Louis knows what he wants, and he’s fully prepared to deny him, only because his head goes foggy just thinking about it. Every time he’s been with Harry like that so far, he’s come so close to just blurting it out,  _ I love you, god, I’m so in love with you,  _ and he worries this time would be no different. It makes him  _ feel  _ like nothing else, and god, Louis’ always loved him, he thinks, but if there was ever a chance that he’d get over it, it flew out the window the first time Harry split him open on his cock, and got further and further out of hand every time after that. Saying no should be easy, but Louis’ stomach clenches with how bad he wants it, and thinking he could ever say no is his first mistake. His second is looking Harry in the eyes, chest lurching at the sight of him, drinking in his blotchy cheeks and hopeful expression, his cock barely flagged and still inches from Louis’ face. 

“Tell me,” Louis says, just to hear him say it, his fingers curling around the base of Harry’s dick and stroking upwards. 

That’s apparently all it takes to break Harry down, because he exhales and murmurs, “Let me fuck you, Lou, please, I can - I can make it so good, fuck -” 

“Shh, I know you can, babe,” Louis cuts him off, nodding. “I - I want you to.” 

Harry makes a choked off noise and leans down to kiss him, rough and biting, his wet cock bumping up against Louis’ belly. They kiss long and slow, until they’re not anymore, and Harry’s mouth is pressing against his throat, hand wedging down to get at Louis’ pants, pulling until they slide down over his thighs and his cock pops free. Harry sits up so he can get them the rest of the way down, Louis lifting his legs to help him untangle them from around his ankles. Once they’re gone, Harry leans down to press a wet kiss to Louis’ lower belly, still delicately holding his legs like he’s glass. It shouldn't turn Louis on to see Harry touching him like that; he’s never wanted that from anyone else, always wanted it fast and rough and biting, no time for soft caresses, but Harry’s gotten to be his exception for a lot of things, these days. 

Harry’s hair tickles Louis’ belly when he leans down to swallow his cock, falling like a curtain over his forehead. Louis has to bite back a moan at the wet heat of his mouth, the circle of his thumb and forefingers keeping a tight grip on the base as he takes Louis down in one go. He’s learned a lot about what Louis likes since they started, and he puts it all to use now, forcing Louis to bite down on his knuckle as he works his flattened tongue over the underside of his cock. Louis can’t hold back his gasp when his opposite knuckle finds his hole, brushing over the tight furl of muscle absently. Louis’ got a cheeky comment on the tip of his tongue, but then Harry takes him deep and presses in with the tip of his thumb at the same time, making Louis tip his head back and choke on a moan instead. It goes like that for a while, Harry sucking him off and playing with his hole, until Louis stops him with a hand in his hair, chest heaving with the effort of trying not to come for the last three minutes. 

“Hey, Harry? You were gonna fuck me, remember?” His voice is embarrassingly high, coming off more desperate than snarky, but he’s beyond caring, really. When Harry pulls off and looks at him, his cheeks are flushed and lips swollen red, so fucking gorgeous that Louis has to look away. 

“Was I?” he shoots back, smug, and Louis pinches a nipple as soon as he’s close enough. Harry yelps, but Louis doesn’t miss the way his eyes flutter, smirking as Harry crawls up to hover over him again and asks, “Where’s the lube, arsehole?” 

Louis gestures to his duffle in the corner, and Harry gets to his feet to retrieve it, tripping over himself as he tries to yank his underwear the rest of the way down on his way. He gets it, eventually, kicking them off to the side before kneeling to dig through Louis’ bag. Louis shuts his eyes and ignores him, flat on his back as he reaches to idly stroke at his cock.

“Uh, Lou?” 

Louis doesn’t open his eyes, sighing impatiently. “D’you check the side pockets, H, because -” 

“No, I got it. Just, um...condoms?” Harry’s voice is closer this time, and Louis opens his eyes just in time to see him drop the lube on the bed and perch himself on the edge. 

“Oh, um. Don’t have any,” Louis responds quietly.  “Sorry, I didn’t exactly plan on getting it up the arse on me mum’s sofa,” he snickers. The way Harry deflates would honestly be hilarious if he didn’t look so bloody  _ sad _ .

“S’okay, we’ll just - fingers, then,” Harry says dejectedly, and Louis does laugh then, surging up to kiss him and grinning through it. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Louis tells him, speaking slow and careful, but doing his best to seem nonchalant. “I just meant, like - I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it.”

Harry eyes widen, his mouth dropping open and then snapping shut. “You mean -”

“Yeah.” It’s not a big deal, he tells himself, and then repeats the words out loud to Harry. “I mean, I trust you.” 

“Yeah, me too. I’ve just - never done it like that.”

“Like what? Bare?” 

Harry shudders, his mouth close as he leans over Louis. “Yeah. Like that.” He mouths over Louis’ jaw, his hand creeping up his thigh, whispers against his skin, “can’t believe you’d let me.” 

“Yeah, want it,” Louis breathes. He’s never done it, either, but he doesn’t tell Harry, just kisses him like he’s fishing for breath, one hand fisted in his hair and the other reaching between his legs to rub at the head of his cock. Harry hisses, rocking his hips down, one dry finger brushing over Louis’ hole. Louis can’t breathe, gripping at his shoulders, and when Harry’s hand returns to his arse it’s wet, slicked up fingers petting at him graciously. Louis feels cold when Harry sits back so he can see properly, but he makes up for it when he uses his dry hand to push at Louis’ thigh, exposing him completely, and press his middle finger in ever so slowly. Louis’ belly knots in anticipation, one hand moving to cover up his heated face. It’s not the finger that has him overwhelmed, has him feeling like it’s too much; it’s the idea that Harry’s opening him up for him,  _ just  _ him, and Louis’ so hard that it hurts. 

It’s not long before Harry works his way up to two, and then three, gently and thoroughly but anything except slowly. Louis can tell he’s just as eager, his hairline shiny with sweat as he twists his fingers inside Louis, drawing subtle noises from him even though he’s doing his best to stay quiet. His best doesn’t turn out to be so good, because then Harry curls his fingers just so, and Louis’ writhing and letting out a low groan. 

“Fuck, m’good, Harry, just -” 

Harry hushes him, but Louis gets what he wants, always does. He takes his fingers out slowly, rearranging himself on his elbow so that he’s lying at an angle on the edge of the mattress, pressing a kiss to Louis’ sweaty temple. He pushes at Louis’ thigh until he turns his body too, just barely, so that Harry’s lined up behind him, breath quickening when he feels the hot line of his cock pressed up against him. He hears Harry snick open the lube and feels his knuckles brush his lower back when he moves to slick himself up, and the next thing Louis feels is the head of his cock at his hole, barely pressing in, Harry’s hot breath at his ear as he slides in inch by inch. His hand lands on Louis’ hip when he’s bottomed out, and both of them just kind of sigh at the same time, Louis’ fingers moving to cover his. 

“How’s it?” Louis slurs, pressing his cheek against the pillow they’re sharing, his chest tight and fingers squeezing at Harry’s so hard it has to hurt. Harry gives an experimental roll of his hips, breathing out a shuddery moan against Louis’ neck, and Louis responds with one of his own, squeezing even harder. 

“God, it’s - oh my God, Louis, I can feel you -” He cuts himself off, but Louis feels his sentiment. It feels hotter like this, more drag, more friction, more skin, and it only feels better when Harry starts to move, barely pulling his hips back before snapping back in with a bit more force. Louis bites his lip, and it’s all a haze after that, Harry’s blunt nails biting into his skin as he rocks into him, picking up pace, hot, wet breaths landing on the back of Louis’ neck. 

They can’t be loud, not really, not with Gemma and the entirety of Louis’ family asleep upstairs, but it’s a relative loudness in Louis’ ears as they fuck in the stillness of the basement, silent other than their hot, shuddery breaths, the sound of their skin slapping together, the occasional muted whimper and groan, all of it mixed together until Louis can’t tell who’s who anymore. Harry fucks him like he’s got a goal in mind, and that goal is to make Louis come as hard and as fast as possible, the hot drag of their bodies getting more and more intense as it goes on. Louis starts to feel close before he knows it, shit, he was close as soon as Harry got his cock inside, and he releases Harry’s hand to drag his fingers over his belly, feeling the sweaty skin of his stomach until he finds his cock and fists at it, shoving his face into the pillow to hide the moan that comes out when Harry hits his spot dead-on. From there he feels it building, really building, his fist flying over his cock while Harry fucks him at a similar pace. 

“Close, fuck, you feel so good -” Harry groans in his ear, and that’s what does him in for good, remembering at the last second that he can’t come on the sheets and catching it in his hand instead, Harry’s hips never slowing. It takes a minute for his head to clear enough to warn Harry, too, as much as he wants to let him come inside, fill him up. 

“Babe, you’ve got - you’ve got to pull out, fuck, can’t make a mess,” Louis whispers at him. Harry makes a pained noise, like it  _ hurts  _ him that he can’t, but less than a minute later he complies, pushing Louis flat onto his back and fisting his cock until he starts to come on his belly instead, adding to the mess already there. He grunts through it, hair hanging in his face, then falls back onto his side, his sweaty skin sticking to Louis’ where their bodies meet. 

“Rude,” Louis sighs as soon as he’s caught his breath, wrinkling his nose as he drags his fingers through the mess. “That is like, the worst sex etiquette I’ve ever seen.” 

“Yeah, what was I meant to do, shove it in your mouth?” Harry murmurs. Louis can feel his smirk against his shoulder, and he has half a mind to shove his come-covered hand in his face, but as it is he just huffs and wiggles against him. 

“Christ, you’re fucking crass. On Jesus’s birthday, Harry? Really?”

“Shut up and I’ll find something to clean up with, yeah?”

Louis grunts, and he feels the warmth of Harry’s body leave his side when he gets up, watching him stumble off to the half-bath at the bottom of the stairs. He comes back wielding a package of baby wipes and a smug smile, nudging himself between Louis’ legs as he graciously takes it upon himself to wipe him clean. 

“My hero,” Louis mutters, feeling heavy and sated. He lets Harry nuzzle up against him for a moment before he sits up to find his underwear. “Right,” he says as he slides them back on. “Guess I’ll take the armchair, then.” 

Harry pouts. “What? Why would you do that?” 

“Yeah, and what’s my mum gonna think when she comes down to find us cozied up on the sofabed? Don’t think so,” Louis snorts. It’s not that she’d mind, he doesn’t think, but moreso that he doesn’t need that teasing in his life when it’s not even clear where they go from here. 

“Just for a bit, then. Please.” Harry’s still pouting at him, and Louis tries not to wonder what that means. 

He knows he’s going to resign anyway, so there’s no use putting up a fight. “Fine. But only if you put your clothes on, Lord knows nobody needs to see  _ that  _ first thing in the morning.” He gestures to Harry, flat on his back with his arms behind his head, flaccid dick lying against his thigh. Harry grins and sits up, wiggling into his briefs and t-shirt without arguments. Louis deems it good enough, snuggling into his side. Harry makes a happy noise and rearranges them until they’re pressed flush together, chest to chest, his wide palm spanning Louis’ lower back.

“Meant it, you know,” he murmurs into Louis’ hair, voice rumbling in his chest. He doesn’t even wait for Louis to ask before speaking again, squeezing him tighter. “Missed you. All of you.”

Louis doesn’t ask what that entails, doesn’t want to know, for once. “Shh, Haz. Sleep. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” 

Neither of them speak again, and Louis’ fucking terrified, but it’s good enough, somehow, knowing he hasn’t scared Harry away just yet. He smudges a kiss to Harry’s jaw and waits for his breath to even out before taking a spare pillow and blanket over to the armchair, the whir of the furnace quieting his thoughts long enough for him to fall asleep. 

 

_ fin _

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 please leave kudos/comments if u enjoyed!!
> 
> [come say hi](http://crossnecklace.tumblr.com)
> 
> also, here is the [post](http://crossnecklace.tumblr.com/post/168304286906/candy-in-your-mouth-i-know-you-love-me-by) if you liked it enough to give me a reblog!


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